Quite Amusing
by TheShakespeareCode
Summary: False joy for the Mad Queen. A Lannister always pays her debts...and makes sure her enemies pay theirs. No matter where those enemies come from. Or how close to home...Unrelated to the series-no spoilers here. A One Shot I Wrote Because I'm A Horrible Person. Rated for gore. Enjoy!


**Hey everyone! Hope you're all well, and enjoy this quick one-shot! Reviews always appreciated! I'm hoping to start another full-length one soon, maybe Game of Thrones, maybe something else, so keep an eye out! Thank you so much, much love xxx**

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Whoever had hammered Jaime Lannister's head onto the spike must have hated him quite as much as any man in the Seven Kingdoms. The point of the wooden pole had been carved so sharply that it would have made a good weapon against any man living, let alone the dead. So, when the soldier, following the commands of his queen, had shoved the Kingslayer's head down so ferociously that the arrowhead-like tip of the spike had burst sickeningly out of his scalp. It had caused what little blood was left in his brain to burst out, matting his golden hair and dying it a dirty flesh colour.

And there it sat. High above the battlements of the Red Keep, looking blindly out onto Kings Landing beneath the silver sky. The eyes were open. They were still green, as green as his sister's, as green as ever. But the brightness had left them with his final breath, before the axe had fallen. Now…they looked every bit the stones that silent sisters would have placed over his eyelids had he died an honourable death. Honourable. The wind that blew through the stone arches that looked out on the wall cared not. The sea, throwing itself against the coast as if in despair cared not. Nothing and no one cared for honour now.

There was nothing behind those eyes now. There was no trace of Jaime, no crinkles at the corners, no sardonic half-smile, no cutting remarks on his cold, slightly-parted lips. Only a faint red stain on his broken teeth, purple irritation where the skin on his neck had ripped, given way to the force of the blade, and dry, black blood. And then-there was the smell. The choking stench of death, reaching out to grasp the quietness of the cold morning air in its rank fists.

Suddenly, the tomb-like silence of the wall of traitors was broken. Steadily, like the beat of a drum-marching. Footsteps, heavy boots on old stone, flashes of amour and white cloaks between each archway. The gentle brush of skirt on ground. The scraping feet of a prisoner being dragged against their will.

All stopped dead before Jaime's spike.

The moment she had turned away from the wall to face the party that followed her-Queen Cersei lifted her eyes from the ground. They were disconcertingly dry-she seemed scarcely to blink. The small silver crown sat on her shorn golden hair, slightly askew, but the queen neither noticed nor cared. There were marks of wear on her black dress, as if it gone days on end without being washed or changed. She kept her back firmly to the row of spikes behind her, seemingly unconcerned about being in such proximity to the severed head of her twin. Not only her twin-the father of her children, the man she had loved more than anything else in the world…but now she scarcely flinched. She had not looked at it since she had watched, emotionless, as it fell to the ground, glancing off the block, rolling an inch or so away from the kneeling corpse before coming to a halt on one side. Then, she had calmly turned, as she turned now, and left all of it behind. Out of sight, out of mind…she was simply out of everything.

And it was for this reason, and this reason alone-that she could go on at all. That she could reign.

At her feet-her prisoner was thrown with a loud thud. The great warrior gave a grunt as she fell to her knees before the queen. Her yellow head was bowed, her shoulders shaking as she panted heavily, her breaths steam in the cold air. The chains that bound her clanked against one another and the stone beneath her. Cersei could see raw blood on her bound wrists behind her back where the tight metal links had scraped the skin away. This gave her a warm pang of satisfaction in the chill. Winter was well, and truly, here…but Cersei had omitted to even put on a cloak. Nothing could touch her now, not the wind, not the rain, not even fire or ice…

The prisoner's eyes remained firmly on the ground. And so, for the first time-Cersei spoke.

"Do you know where you are?"

Silence.

"Your queen just asked you a question!" A red-headed guard, holding the prisoner's chains, shook them impatiently. The prisoner did not move. She kept her eyes down.

Cersei was unaffected. She had expected this. "No, you don't. I don't suppose you ever came up here…" She took a step towards her prisoner. "Look up."

The prisoner did not move. Cersei could see

Cersei snorted. She took another step forward, so that she was within touching distance of the bound woman. "I received a raven from Tarth this morning. Do you know what your father is offering to me if I send you home unharmed?"

Silence.

"More gold than he can afford. More men than he can possibly spare. Everything he, and his father, and his father before him, have ever worked for… _just_ to get you back…" The ghost of a smile brushed across Cersei's lips. "Far more than you are worth…But so desperate was your father's plea and so _generous_ his ransom…I am almost tempted to put you on a ship and send you South tonight. Would you like that?"

Still, there was only silence from the prisoner. Just heavy breaths and eyes cast down. Cersei was beginning to tire of it. And so-she bent down, in a sort of curtsey, so that her face was level with the head of her prisoner. She could see sweat on the great forehead, in the wisps of yellow hair. The queen lent in close, lowering her voice almost to a whisper, as she spoke to the bound warrior in her grasp.

"But _this_ …this pleases me more than all the gold in the world…" Cersei hissed. She fixed her eyes on the light, folded eyelashes of her prisoner's tightly shut eyes. She wondered how many tears they had cried for Jaime. She was sure she would soon find out… "I will ask you a final time, Brienne of Tarth…Look up."

She did not. If Brienne had been strange to look at before, she was tenfold now. She looked thin, her face gaunter, as if she had lost a lot of weight in a short period. There were bruises and scrapes all over her pale skin, new scars forming. Her nose had been broken, perhaps during the days of torture Cersei had bestowed upon her, and her full lips was split. But her eyes-those bluest of eyes-remained firmly closed. There was a carelessness about her. Here was a woman who was already so much in hell that she no longer cared what happened to her. Here was a woman impatiently waiting for death to take her.

But Cersei was not done with her yet.

"If that is the way you want to do this…so be it…" Cersei whispered. Again, she almost smiled as she looked up at her guard, giving him a small nod. Instantly-his large, gloved hands clasped around the throat of the prisoner, forcing her head skyward. Without looking, Cersei knew that he was directing her gaze towards Jaime's head. Banishing that thought quickly from her mind, she kept her eyes on Brienne. For a few moments, Brienne struggled-but quickly, she went limp. Giving up what little resistance she had left…she opened her eyes a fraction. There was the tiniest flash of brightest blue…then-

" _NO_!"

It was purely animalistic. A howl. Cersei could not describe how much pleasure she got from the expression on her prisoner's face as she realised where she was, and why Cersei had dragged her from her cell to bring her here. It was like a pat on the back, a congratulations. She watched with pleasure as Brienne shut her eyes tightly, struggling against the guard who held her face firmly forward. A vein was throbbing in her neck as her face contorted with horror.

Cersei sucked in a small breath of satisfaction. "You will look." She did not bother to raise her voice above a whisper. Brienne bit her lip so hard she almost drew more blood. The queen could see how hard she was trying not to cry out again, or to whimper. What Cersei had enjoyed most about having Brienne tortured was how _vocal_ the woman was. How hard she had tried to heroically bear her trials…before howling like a direwolf. Cersei could hear her all the way up in her own chamber, all night, and the screams had warmed her more than any fire could. "You _will_ look." Cersei repeated. Again, she leaned towards her prisoner. She could see the skin around Brienne's eyes beginning to turn scarlet. The woman warrior was going to cry, and it would be glorious. "Open your eyes."

Breathing harder than ever, Brienne fought with the last of her strength against the guard who forced her head. Her whole body was shaking. Cersei found herself, finally, beginning to smile.

"Thought you could save him, didn't you?" she murmured, her voice becoming a purr. "Is that what you thought?" A pause. She watched Brienne's skin growing paler, her teeth grinding, her eyes still forced shut. " _Such_ a shame that you missed the execution. I thought it was only fair…since you were so _very_ dear to one another…that you had the chance to say goodbye. Well. There he waits." She relished her own words. Sitting back a little, she almost relaxed. "We have all day. You will not leave this wall until you look at Jaime's face. _Another_ life that you could not save."

Cersei watched as Brienne began to tire of fighting. The guard was far stronger than she was now. Perhaps, before she had learned of Jaime's death, before she had sat in her cell refusing meals, before she had been tortured beyond any measure of endurance, she could have bested the man and escaped. But not now. Now she never would.

Suddenly-Brienne's ripped lips parted. Her voice, barely a rasp as she struggled:

" _Kill me_."

There was so much defeat, so much agony in her voice that a much younger Cersei may have been moved to pity…but now nothing moved her. Not Brienne the Beauty, not taking Jaime's head, nothing.

Again, the corner of Cersei' mouth twitched. "Oh, you are going to die, Brienne of Tarth. Of course you are. But…I will not afford you that mercy until you look upon Jaime's face."

Slowly…Brienne stopped struggling. Cersei vaguely wondered whether it was the sweet lure of oblivion…or simple exhaustion. She waited, with baited breath, her back to the wind that blew though the row of severed heads. She would not allow herself to imagine it gently blowing through Jaime's hair, as it had when he lived. Instead-she focused entirely on Brienne.

Slowly…and then all at once-Brienne opened her eyes.

Cersei watched the moment her eyes met Jaime's. The shine in her living eyes reflected the emptiness of his. First…there was nothing but shock. Next…illness. Then…more grief than she could possibly contain…before finally…cold, defiance. Her eyes settled, as she stared straight up at Jaime with red eyes, without really seeing him.

Cersei waited.

Time seemed to have stopped as the wind blew through the arches.

" _How long do I have to look_?"

Brienne's voice was monotone. But still-it shook with grief.

Cersei's lip curled. "As long as it pleases me." The curl became a smile. "Do you see the empty spike beside it? That is where I am going to put your ugly head tonight, before the sun sets."

This news hardly seemed to touch Brienne.

Finally, Cersei played her trump card.

"Beside him at last, Lady Brienne…that's something at least, is it not?"

If there was an ounce more horror in Brienne's body, now it spilled out of her eyes. Cersei breathed in deeply, as if drinking in her torture like fine Dornish wine. As if to enforce this, she swallowed hard. She loved to watch the great woman suffer, the tiger turned hapless kitten. It truly gave her more pleasure than all the riches in the world… _Everyone_ was hers to torture now…Every man, woman and child in this city and beyond…

Cersei heard the wind blowing against the stone walls far below, right down to the cobbled roads of the slums below…the ghost of a chill touched her, like her children's hands…


End file.
